


And Every Hour After

by amo_amare



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amo_amare/pseuds/amo_amare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor leaves her again, Amy is desperate to hold onto something real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Every Hour After

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Eleventy_kink community at Livejournal, for the prompt: "Amy/Rory, aftermath of The Eleventh Hour."

For a moment he just stands there and watches her. She isn't crying yet, but she will be: he can tell by the way she's fidgeting and breathing hard through her nose. He knows what she must be feeling; after all these years, he can read her better than he can read himself. And that's the problem: before he goes to offer her comfort, he has to figure out just what it is he's feeling.

At least half a dozen disparate emotions are churning through him, dipping and swirling and fighting to break through to the surface. There's anger, of course: how could the Doctor do this to Amy, whose life has already been a cobbled patch-job built up around the giant fissure of his absence? There's sadness, and not just for Amy: it's been less than an hour he's spent in the Doctor's presence, and he still has so many questions that now will never be answered. There's regret, and relief, and fear and so many others, but most of all, there is elation: the Doctor is gone, breaking Amy's heart for what he hopes is the last time, and now she's Rory's again. Maybe now she can be his completely.

The minute he thinks it, he's sorry; shame bubbles up and washes over every other emotion. How can he think of himself when Amy's fragile world is coming apart at the seams, a world she'd fought so hard to put together in the first place? That thought is the push he needs.

He walks up to her and puts his arms around her from behind. At first she stiffens, her body going rigid against him. If she can make her body like steel, then maybe she won't have to bend to the anger and sadness inside that she told herself she'd never have to feel again. But Rory is patient, and he isn't fooled; he hugs her tighter and presses his face into her shoulder. Soon her jaw is trembling, and then the tears are spilling hot and wet and silent down her face. Her shoulders collapse, and she allows herself to be pulled into an embrace.

Rory feels her hands clinging to his back, fingers clutching desperately at his shirt as she tries to reassure herself that he's there, and he's solid, and he isn't going anywhere. Rory sighs; no, he never wanted her like this.

"Come on," he says gently, pulling away and taking her hand. "Let's get you inside."

 

He sits her down in her kitchen and makes her a cup of tea. It takes some prodding, but he gets her to drink it; it's one of the skills he's learned as a nurse, the gentle and insistent persuasion necessary to make someone do something for their own good. He praises her gently after every sip and strokes her hair, just like he would a child's, and a part inside of him finds this most unsettling of all: Amy does not like to be treated like a child. Her lack of protest speaks to the numbing sadness that's blunting her perception.

He's beginning to worry that she might be in genuine shock, but finally, when the tea is gone, the color starts coming back into her face and she's meeting Rory's eyes again. He thinks the look he reads there might break his heart.

"I should have known," she says quietly, tracing one smooth, manicured finger around the knuckles of his hand.

"What's that, love?"

"I mean," she went on, "I always knew he would come back, but I should have known that he wouldn't stay and he wouldn't take me with him. I should have known his promise was too good to be true."

The defeat in her voice makes him want to cry. "Amy, I don't think…"

"It's Ok!" she interrupts, "You don't have to make excuses for him. As I said, I should have known; everyone breaks promises." One last tear spilled down her cheek before she looked up to meet his eyes. "Everyone except you, that is."

The weight of her words is so heavy he thinks he might break underneath it. His greatest fear is that he can't live up to her expectations; his life's greatest driving force is his attempt to. "I love you, Amy, and I don't ever want to hurt you…"

"I know," she says. She leans into him shyly and presses her lips against his, softly and tentatively. With one hand he grasps hers tighter and with the other he reaches up to stroke her hair. The kiss is light and soft, and when she ends it she pulls back to regard him. There's a question in her eyes, but he doesn't know what it is. Nevertheless, she seems to find her answer.

Amy leans in to claim his lips again, this time sliding forward in her chair so that her knees rest between his. She grabs his shoulders to pull him into her as her lips draw at his own, coaxing him to deepen the kiss. For a moment he gives her what she wants, sliding his tongue out to meet hers in a caress. It feels wrong, though, and he stops abruptly.

Amy clutches at his head as he pulls away, but he gently unwinds her arms from around his neck, stroking her wrists with his thumbs as he looks her in the eye. "Amy," he says as delicately as he can, "I don't know…"

"I do," she insists, her voice thin but steady.

He tries again. "You're in shock…"

"No!" she cuts him off abruptly. "No, no, no! He's taken so much from me; he's not going to have you, too."

Rory's face contorts with confusion. "'Have me'? Amy, what do you mean?"

Her eyes are wild and desperate as she answers. "All my life I've been pitied by everyone. 'Poor, mad little Amelia Pond, the girl obsessed with her imaginary friend.' But not by you; never by you! And I won't have it now! I won't have you protecting me and pitying me and making decisions for me. I need you, Rory; I need YOU. Please," her voice turned quiet and pleading, "just, please."

Rory nods, his face softening. "Come on," he says, standing from his chair and pulling her up with him. He takes her hand and leads her into the lounge. He settles himself down on the huge, overstuffed sofa and pulls Amy down into his lap.

They're hardly settled when her lips are crushed against his, and he can feel his breath stolen into her hot and greedy mouth. She's restless and hungry, her lips, tongue and hands all moving frantically, desperate to possess him fully. He's trying to keep up, but all he can do is hold on, snatching a breath wherever he can. Finally she needs to stop for air, and she's gasping so hard it's almost a sob. She's reaching down for him again, but this time he stops her.

"Amy," he manages to get out. "Amy, wait." His heart is beating so hard he thinks his eardrums might rupture. Amy is still breathing fast, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen. She's no longer crying, but her eyes are rimmed in red, their expression unreadable. She's still wearing that ridiculous police outfit, the sleeves now stained with makeup from where she used them to wipe the tears from her face.

"Rory, please," she says again. "I need you, I need this, right now." His eyes tell her he's not convinced. She tries one last time, punctuating her words with a desperate squeeze to the hand he's reached out to her face. "Please!"

For a moment he just stares at her, brow furrowed, eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. She looks back at him steadily, intently, trying to convey with all her will just how much she needs him to do this for her now. Finally, he understands. He nods his head, once, and pulls her lips to his once again.

She sighs in relief, a sigh that becomes a moan as Rory reaches a tentative hand up underneath her policewoman's vest to cup her breast. Her blood is singing, burning through her like fire, and even this light touch sparks like a jolt of electricity.

Today she battled aliens. Today her imaginary friend came back to prove to the world that he was real, and that she wasn't mad. Today she was more scared, more excited, more alive than she's ever been before. Today she'd had everything she'd ever dreamed of, and more, because it was real, and there was no way that anyone could deny it.

And in an instant, it was gone.

She'd been lying when she told the Doctor that she'd grown up: she never had. She'd never stopped hoping, or waiting, or dreaming. But not now; now her eyes are finally open.

She grabs at her costume, fumbling with the closure, pulling his hands to her chest and begging him to help her. As soon as she's out of her vest, she reaches for his shirt and starts to pull. She needs to feel his skin, to taste it and press it up against her own; it's the only way to be sure that he's real, and he's here with her now. She can feel the world crashing around her, and she needs something solid to grasp onto; nothing has ever been more solid for her than Rory.

Finally, his need is rising up to meet her own; Amy can feel the proof of it pressing up against her leg where it rests in his lap. She moves to straddle him, pulling her shirt up over her head in the same movement. He buries his face between her breasts, mouthing and sucking and turning her pale flesh pink with heat. She grinds her hips against his, shuddering at the hiss of air on her saliva-slick skin as he gasps against her.

He's so hard now, he can barely breathe, and Amy is grinding against him as if she's going to fuck him through their clothes. He grabs for her skirt, fumbling for the zip until she obliges by standing up and pulling it down over her hips in one smooth motion. She's standing in front of him now wearing only her bra and knickers and those ridiculously sexy stockings with the seam up the back.

For a moment he's frozen in place, staring up at her with awe and lust and just a little trepidation. When he's able to move, he starts to stand, to join her, but she pushes him back down onto the sofa, swallowing his protest in a kiss. She reaches for the fly on his jeans, and in seconds she has it open and she's reaching down his trousers and pulling out his cock. She gives it two quick pumps before opening her mouth and sliding her tongue down the length of him.

"Oh, God, Amy!" She draws the head into her mouth and sucks, cheeks flexing, tongue wiggling and flicking along the underside. He draws her hair away from her face with one hand and uses the other to stroke her cheek. Her skin is hot and flushed, and he wonders briefly if she has a fever; but then she's moving faster, bobbing her head down over the entire length of him, trying to take him into her throat, and then he can't think at all. She's moving so fast she gags once or twice, and he tries to be concerned, to worry about her welfare and whether or not what she's doing is too much too fast, but he can barely hold onto a coherent thought with her hot, wet mouth wrapping around his cock.

He's almost there when suddenly she stops. He looks down, and she's kneeling between his legs, panting and studying him with hungry eyes. He's never seen her like this. He's never been so turned on and so terrified at the same time.

"Fuck me," she says quietly. "Please."

His mind is racing, and his dick is throbbing, and he's trying his best to think, just think about what is happening between them, and what it means. "Amy…" he starts, and instantly she's standing, reaching out to stop what she knows is coming.

"Please!" she repeats, more insistent this time. And then finally, "Rory, please."

He rises to stand with her. Whatever is happening between them now, he isn't sure, but Amy is, and he has to trust her; he always has. He pulls her into her arms, and kisses her, slowly and softly; he reaches around her back to unclasp her bra, freeing her breasts to the open air. His fingers brush over their rosy peaks, and he can feel her sigh into his mouth as he deepens the kiss.

She pulls away from him and moves to sit on the couch, tugging him along with her. She tries to straddle him again, but this time he pushes her back against the cushions so that she's lying with her head against the armrest. Maybe if he can take control he can slow things down just a little bit. He reaches for her waist to pull down her knickers and stockings, and she raises her hips so he can slip them off her.

He dips his head down between her legs, but she grabs at his hair in an attempt to pull him back up. He looks up at her, confused, and she says again, "Fuck me, Rory, please." He wants to defy her, but something in her eyes won't let him. He nods and raises himself up above her.

When he reaches a hand down between her legs he finds her soaking wet. He takes a moment to stroke her gently, thumb finding her clit and circling it lazily as he kisses and licks along her collarbone. She grinds her hips up against him impatiently, and he sighs. He guides his cock between her legs and rubs it up and down along her slit. Her hips thrust up at him greedily. There's no use trying to prolong the moment, so he positions himself at her entrance and pushes into her with one hard, slow thrust.

"Oh yes, Rory, yes!" He can feel the muscles of her cunt clench around him, and she swivels her hips, trying to feel all of him at once. He claims her mouth with his and begins to thrust in a slow, steady rhythm. She opens her legs wider, sinks her hips deeper into the cushions, grasping at his ass and pulling him deeper inside her with each thrust. Rory is gasping at the sensation, sweat beading up on his forehead and dripping down onto Amy's porcelain cheek. With a handful of his hair, she pulls his face down to hers so she can lick his neck and growl into his ear, "Harder!"

He picks up the pace, biting at his lip to keep himself from coming. He reaches a hand down to Amy's cunt and starts rubbing furiously at her swollen clit. God, he hopes she's close.

Amy's eyes are closed and she's moaning and grunting each time his cock slams down inside her. Still, it's not quite enough. "Harder! Harder!" she cries. Rory braces himself against the frame of the sofa and begins slamming down into her, the force of his thrusts causing her thighs to quiver and the sofa to shake and groan. Just when he knows he can't hold on any longer, Amy cries out, her screams jerking out of her with his final thrusts. He closes his eyes, relieved, and groans as he spills out into her.

His body collapses on top of hers, and he buries his face against her neck, breathing hard. His arms are shaking, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to lift himself up off of her. He tries to raise himself up on one elbow, but Amy grabs him and pulls him back down against her. "Stay!" she insists. "I want to feel you inside me a little longer."

He presses a soft kiss against her neck and breathes in the scent of their sweat mixed together. "I love you," he whispers, and then stiffens when a reply doesn't come. This time he pushes himself up to look at her face. The gaze that meets his is intense.

"You mean that, right?" she asks, voice all seriousness. "You've always meant it?"

"Of course," he answers immediately. "I would never lie to you."

In answer, she pulls his face down to hers for a kiss. He pulls the blanket down from the back of the sofa to cover them, and they stay like that for hours, wrapped in each other's arms. Amy dozes off several times, but Rory stays awake, holding her and watching her sleep. He doesn't know what life with Amy will be like now, or what effects this latest disappointment will have on her. All he knows is that he'll do whatever he can to be there with her, no matter how things turn out.

And that's a feat not even the Doctor can boast.


End file.
